


Leave It All Behind

by KilltheDJ



Series: Ain't About The Friends You Made [3]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: "I totally didnt want to adopt these kids but I would die for them" trope, Fluff, Gen, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:47:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilltheDJ/pseuds/KilltheDJ
Summary: Children were high maintenance and Poison had never done well with people who needed even more attention than he did.Or, Poison hears crying, and his first instinct is to seek it out, of course.
Series: Ain't About The Friends You Made [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556893
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Leave It All Behind

Poison didn’t know the day he started getting attached to the kids they rescued. 

It could’ve been any time from when Poison was gone for twenty minutes - it was just twenty minutes! - and came back to Jet and Ghoul, helplessly knee-deep in art supplies and stolen printer paper, to the time he walked into the Diner with the other adults (they were all promoted to adults now, not hapless teenagers. Checkmate, Pony!) only to find it a complete wreck with various kids hidden in various places, seeming all with the same goal of making their lives Hell. 

Of course, it could’ve been the small things, too, that got him attached.

The look on Storm’s face when he chose a name, the beaming grin Gray wore all day when Jet said his art was good (it was...not because Poison couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be), the giggling from Valen’s room when Kobra gave him his first nickname - the one only Kobra was allowed to call him, little Valentine -, the elation you could hear echoing around the Diner when one of the nameless kids made their first functioning invention with Ghoul. 

It was a bomb, but that was whatever and probably to be expected. 

So, yeah, maybe he was starting to think that he would die for them, should he need to. Maybe he was starting to think that watching these kids smile was worth all the stress - all the food, clothes, supplies they needed to get their hands on, on a weekly basis. 

That being said, children were needy and as much as Poison was starting to warm up to the Diner being as cramped as it was, and Poison could not wait to get out of the Diner for more than an hour or so. Supply runs were a necessity and scary, sometimes, but Poison had had his name called seven times in the same four minutes after he’d finally been able to sit down. 

“You ready to go?” Pois asked, sliding his jacket over his shoulders. It was too hot to wear it right now, and driving the Trans Am was going to make him feel like he was melting, but by the time he and Jet got to the Market it’d be cold enough to warrant it. 

Jet nodded, and that was that, because if they draw any more attention to themselves someone was going to need their attention and they’d all starve to death.

Having children was fun, Poison swore. 

_

The Market was bustling, as always. It was in Zone Three for the day, - perfect for Poison; the gas tank of the Trans Am was still full, and he needed it that way for a meet-up with a Tumbleweed he had in a day or so to meet about medicine for the upcoming winter - but Jet was always better at bargaining without flirting and/or blackmail.

So in short, Poison was bored. It was rare that happened, now at least, but if he kept thinking like his anymore he’d be promoted to old man just like Dr. D and that was not a thing that was happening.

It did make him wonder how Dr. D dealt with them all randomly barging into his Station all the time, as he wandered around the different tents and stalls. If Jet needed him, he could radio him. 

And then he heard crying.

See, it was a Neutral Market. That shouldn’t have surprised him, because the Neutrals outnumbered the killjoys four-to-one at Markets like this, and it wasn’t unusual for them to raise children. Hell, even killjoys would settle down in a Neutral settlement if they had a kid or knew they had one on the way.

But no, the Fabulous Killjoys were idiots who decided to keep children in the line of fire, with bright red spray paint X’s on their lives like target practice if the Four aren’t careful enough.

Maybe he’s started to stop being so immune to the sound of crying because Poison found himself looking over all the other heads in the Market to see the direction of the source. It sounded too his left, but even in all the bustling of people and their belongings, he could tell there wasn’t anything being sold over there - over to his left was just a few stragglers. 

But he heard the crying again, and it sounded like a child.

He tried to convince himself to leave it be. Beyond the Diner being too cramped already, it was probably a toddler mad at their parents for not buying them something, or something equally as unworthy of Poison’s attention. 

Why was Poison was walking over there, then? 

The sun was trying its damnedest to hang in the sky, to refuse to give way to night, and the shadows made it difficult to see between the nooks and corners behind every tent. 

This time, away from the louder noise and the larger crowds, Poison didn’t just hear the crying 0 he heard sniffling, too, and while it helped refine where he was looking, it didn’t sound quite like a child, but certainly not an adult.

It was the next time he heard a sob that Poison was finally able to pinpoint where it was coming from; behind a tent, tucked away into the shadows. Impossible to notice off-hand if you weren’t looking. 

Poison approached slowly, cautiously. He hadn’t heard of any cruel tricks of this nature happening out in the Desert recently, but every report had to start somewhere and he didn’t feel like dying recklessly today. 

“Hey,” Poison said softly, before the person he was speaking too even came into view. His hands were off his blaster, held up to show he was a friendly, and who knew if the person he was speaking to was easy spooked? “Hey, are you okay?”

“Go ‘way,” the person sniffled, and Poison finally ambled close enough to see them - knees pulled to their chest, head held down, in ratty and torn clothes. There was a splash of color on those clothes, though.

He was definitely talking to a teenager, though. Fuck. Yeah, Poison was a teenager too, but this teenager was much smaller and clearly younger and teenagers were stubborn brats at best. The mangy brown hair he had was falling into his eyes, covering… was he wearing glasses?

“Um, no.” Well, Poison had to say he wasn’t leaving someway. Warily, he crouched down a good foot or so away from the person - the kid. “What’s wrong?”

“I said go away.” Maybe the kid was trying to make their voice seem strong, to make themself seem put together and strong, but the sentence was punctuated by another sob and dammit, Poison didn’t think he could leave if he tried.

Poison shook his head. The beads of the necklace Salem gave him rattled alongside his dog tag, and the kid chanced looking up. Poison gave his best-encouraging smile, which he hoped was enough. “Hey, I don’t mean any harm. I just heard you crying. What happened? Are you okay?”

It was an odd hope, but Poison was hoping that this kid was still in the ‘I-overshare-way-too-much’ phase and was willing to actually tell him what was wrong. 

That was not the case.

Instead, the kid glared at him ever-so-slightly, shrinking back. Their knuckles turned white from how hard they were holding their knees - Poison checked himself. There was nothing intimidating he was doing, or at least actively trying to do, and he wasn’t exactly intimidating without all the fire. 

“Are you okay?” Poison repeated once again, sitting back on his knees because crouching hurt and he had no intention of leaving.

Damn, Ghoul was right. He did get attached too quickly.

“I…” the kid started; Poison suppressed a grin. A start of a sentence! That was something that wasn’t a glare! “‘M scared.”

“Yeah? What are you scared of?” said Poison, hoping his voice sounded as sympathetic-but-not-pitying as possible, if that was possible. This was a lot different than wiping away Blue’s tears when he was upset about one of the others ruining his drawings. 

Poison saw the kid lift his head, opening his mouth to say something and clamping his jaw shut just as quickly. Shit. That was not good. 

“It’s okay, I’m not gonna judge you,” Poison continued, like that hadn’t just happened, like he hadn’t noticed the kid about to say something. Jet usually did this sort of thing! Where were they when Poison needed them? Who actually needed supplies? “My name’s Party Poison. He/him. I’m a killjoy. I’m here ‘cos I need to pick up some supplies with a friend of mine. What about you?”

If he sounded patronizing, he didn’t mean too, but Poison didn’t spend much time comforting children - again, usually that was left to Jet. He could only talk to little children and it was a bit difficult adjusting to a different age. 

The kid didn’t seem offended, though, which was good news. In fact, he seemed to relax just a fraction. “I - I’m - Golden Days. He/him.”

“And why are ya here, Golden Days?” Maybe he would get an answer, maybe he wouldn’t, but Poison edged away, about an inch. He was delighted to see that Golden seemed to instinctively lean forward, letting down his guard ever-so-slightly. 

Maybe Poison saying his name had a bit of a calming effect, too, because he wasn’t looking at Poison with as much caution in his eyes as before. “I...I don’t know.”

“Where’s home for you?”

What an interesting question, for anyone, though it was most relevant for Poison to know about Golden right now in case he had someone here, looking for him, maybe, because the Market was completely evacuated when it was closed - and it was closed during the highest temperatures of the day and the lowest temperatures of night.

They only had a few hours until the temperature broke zero. 

Golden suddenly closed up again, and Poison cursed. But a few minutes of patient silence, and he opened up again, lifting his head from his knees and sitting cross-legged, ignoring how blotchy his face was, if he knew about it at all. “Home is...I don’t...have a home. I’m, uh, I’m a Tumbleweed.”

Poison could take a single look at him and know that wasn’t true. For one, there were no roller skates - every Tumbleweed had their skates -, and just as well as that, Golden Days wasn’t offensively colorful enough to look at to be a Tumbleweed.

“D’ya have somewhere to go?”

Poison? Making rash decisions without consulting the rest of his crew and having known this kid - fourteen, at the MOST, he was guessing - for two minutes? Yes, yes he absolutely was. 

Golden shook his head hesitantly; he still didn’t completely trust Poison. Good. He was cautious. 

And in a show of trust, Poison looked Golden in the eyes as he slowly reached for his gun in its holster, and laid it on the ground, nudging it over to the kid. 

Looked up at him with startled, confused brown eyes, Poison could see, Golden was scared like he’d said he was - you could see it in the tense set of his jaw, how he almost seemed to try to curl into himself when he was sitting. He didn’t touch the gun. 

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” Poison repeated, slowly, talking as though he was speaking to a frightened animal. For once in his life, Poison hoped to Destroya he wasn’t intimidating. 

Golden looked at him, then the gun, then at him, then the gun, and slowly pushed the gun back over to Poison. The sand was going to be hell to clean out, but Poison didn’t care, not at that moment. “I... don't. No, I don’t.” 

Poison didn’t holster his gun. No, he left it there, another small show of trust. “If you...wanted, you could maybe stay with me and my crew. If you wanted to, of course.” 

“Are...are you sure?”

Ignoring all the confusion and downright shock in the kid’s tone, Poison smiled at him and offered his hand. Neither of them were standing up, but again, establishing little bits of trust and non-scariness is important. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve got Jet Star with me, right now if you’d like to meet them. And the rest of my crew is at our home, the Diner, and there are some other kids there.”

“Do you...make a habit of picking up strays?” He wasn’t saying no! But he wasn’t taking Poison’s hand, either.

Poison shrugged, laughing quietly. “We might, or maybe that’s just me. You wanna meet Jet?”

“But I..I just...met you?” Nothing matched Golden’s confusion at Poison’s offer. He did hesitantly take Poison’s hand, though, and that was close enough for some silent cheering. “Why?”

“Well...Because… I have a soft spot for kids, I guess? I mean, you’re clearly a bit older than a nine-year-old, but still!” And with that, Poison stood up, and somehow managed to resist laughing at how awkwardly Golden unfolded himself to follow suit. 

And maybe Poison was acting overly sweet and nice, unlike usual, but he didn’t want to see Golden crying any longer, and it must be irritating to get tears on those glasses of his. 

_

“Well I didn’t mean to!”

This was a blatant lie, and it seemed Kobra knew as much from the way he was glaring at Poison, arms crossed with his lips pursed tightly. “We don’t have the room for another kid, Pois. We don’t have enough blankets, we don’t have enough food, and King and Downpour already sleep in the booths. We don’t have the room.”

Poison glared right back at him, narrowing his eyes. He was glad they were outside, far enough away from the Diner that their voices wouldn’t carry through the broken windows. Which, they needed to fix so that King and Downpour didn’t die of hypothermia while they were sleeping in said booths. “He’s already here. Boo-hoo. We can’t kick him out! I’m sorry but - he was crying, what did you expect me to do?”

“I expected you to bring home supplies with Jet, not a kid,” Kobra huffed, jaw clenched tightly. Poison must be pissing him off.

Good. That meant he was making his point and Kobra was running out of counter-arguments.

And before he could come up with any, Poison turned on his heel, unwilling to hear about how much they were going to have to sacrifice themselves to take care of these kids, because he had one to introduce to the kids who were messing around in the Diner. 

It didn’t take much to be a killjoy, you know. Just the want for revolution and the itch for color.

But a Fabulous Killjoy, now that was different. A Fabulous Killjoy needed to forget how to say ‘no’ at only the most convenient of times - when there was a kid in need.

Welcome to the family, Golden Days.

**Author's Note:**

> ANOTHER unedited bit? Yes, you'd be correct, dear reader. Anyway I would die for Golden Days and you should too. I have Plans (tm) for him.


End file.
